


Fraternizing

by followyourenergy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxious Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Business Owner Castiel, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Growing up in foster care, Logger Dean Winchester, Logger Sam Winchester, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mostly POV Gabriel and Sam, Protective Gabriel, Protective Sam Winchester, References to difficult childhoods, Secret Admirer, Shy Castiel (Supernatural), ambiguous Sabriel, business owner Gabriel, dumb schemes, wyoming - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followyourenergy/pseuds/followyourenergy
Summary: Gabriel Novak is a big brother who isn’t above breaking the rules to give his little brother the world.Sam Winchester is a little brother who, despite occasionally thinking he’s a dumbass, wants the world for his big brother, who had to become a man much too soon.So when a misunderstanding has Gabe’s brother, Cas, running for the hills and Sam’s brother, Dean, desperate to make amends, a secret admirer scheme cooked up by Gabe and Sam to give their brothers a well-deserved chance at happiness may be just the thing. But will they end up helping or hurting?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 126
Kudos: 206





	1. Gabe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiaSif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaSif/gifts).



> Hello, hello! Welcome to my latest story!
> 
> This story is for MiaSif, who supported FicFacers ages ago. They originally requested something else, so we waited until the end of the show, and when the end of the show happened, the original request no longer fit. We switched gears, and this is what I came up with instead. Since they love Gabriel and Sam as well as Destiel, I gave Gabe and Sam the primary POVs. It was a fun challenge! 
> 
> MiaSif, I hope you love this! Thank you for all of your support. ❤️
> 
> Special thanks to MandalaRose and thatpeculiarone for checking this out beforehand and giving me feedback! 😘 Also, many thanks to MalMuses for helping me as I angsted over a title. 😂

Gabriel Novak doesn’t fuck around. 

And he doesn’t suffer fools. At all.

Maybe it’s because he left home the second he turned eighteen and took his younger half-brother with him, struggling to raise him while trying to raise himself. Maybe it’s because his genius-level IQ means he’s too quick for most people and he just needs them to _get on with it, please_. Maybe he’s just an asshole. 

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t exactly win him friends. But it does influence people.

And now, he reminds himself as he drives his bright orange Dodge Viper, 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” on full-blast, he has more money than many of the small towns in their little corner of the world...all while maintaining his completely down-to-earth attitude.

Castiel, that brother he dragged the hell out of their nightmare of a “family” foster home, would roll his eyes at that.

They’re all grown up now, but Gabe’s still fiercely devoted to his brother. He loves that kid to death, though he’ll put on an air of indifference to protect himself. It’s a front, but it gives Gabe a sense of control and Cas doesn’t mind because they both know he knows the truth. 

It’s because of that love that he insists on going out socially together at least once a week, though they see each other plenty since they live in the same huge house. If he didn’t, Cas would hide behind the scenes of...well, everything. He is the quintessential wallflower, a chameleon who would rather be part of the background than the star of the show. Their upbringing has a lot to do with that, and Gabe’s been trying to pry him out of his cockleshell one outing at a time. 

He cuts the engine as he arrives at Grace for lunch. Grace is their latest restaurant, one they bought last year and turned into a hell of a success. (Gabe’s the one who saw its potential. It’s what he does. He’s talented like that.) They own six restaurants and a bakery in the area, as well as other business ventures. Except for sporadic visits when he’s bored or stops to pick up food, though, Gabe manages them all from the comfort of his living room, since the actual day-to-day managing is done by, you know, _managers_. He can’t be bothered with that. “I’m a visionary,” he likes to tell Cas, who always answers with a little “Uh huh” that most would call fond exasperation. Cas is a lot more hands-on, visiting at least one of their businesses every weekday (and sometimes weekends) and even helping staff when needed. He enjoys it and says he’s more than happy to do that while Gabe envisions things and represents their companies as their (loud) mouthpiece. 

Gabe wishes Cas were a little more like him, unafraid to speak up. 

But then again, Gabe also wishes he were a little more like Cas, unafraid to work with people enough to get to care about them.

He absentmindedly holds the door open for a bunch of people behind him as he seeks out his brother, finding him at the same table he always chooses when they come here. He plops down into the chair across from Cas, who has his messenger bag in the seat beside them. _Work. Ugh._ He wonders sometimes why they bought all the restaurants. It’s not like they need them for income. “Yo.”

“Yo,” Cas replies dryly, scrolling through his phone. 

Gabe plucks it away. “Stop working.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Working is what most people do during the day.”

“Meh. Take a fuckin’ break once in a while, would you?”

Cas rolls his eyes again. It’s his favorite move. 

There’s an appetizer just arriving at the table, which is no surprise. Cas has always been the planful one, the one to anticipate needs and to meet them so that no one is left wanting (except, often, for Cas himself, which is a whole other issue that Gabe’s had to try to cure him of). Gabe more or less dives headfirst into things. He teases his brother for being a stick-in-the-mud, but he also knows they balance each other out. They’re a formidable force, really.

Brina, their server (nice gal), takes their entree orders right away since they’re so familiar with the menu, then leaves them to their appetizer and their conversation. 

“So, what’s new?” Gabe asks as he pops an entire potato skin in his mouth. He drops his mouth open and pants, the skins being a little too hot. 

“Nothing is new,” Cas answers before sliding one of the appetizers onto his plate. “Look at where we live and what we do. What could possibly be new?”

He has a point. As places go, he probably should’ve moved them to a more exciting place than Laramie, Wyoming if he wanted to get the poor guy some social stimulation. They needed to lie low, though, after they took off (lest Gabe be caught and charged with “kidnapping,” though how is it kidnapping if you’re rescuing someone?). Plus, he knew that Cas could get overwhelmed easily, and hell, he could, too, on occasion, so the quiet, remote state of Wyoming it was. 

Besides, Wyoming had cowboys, and Cas had always liked cowboys, even if he was (and still is) an...inexperienced rider. (Gabe nearly pissed himself laughing when he took Cas to an equal opportunity strip club on one of their trips and an oiled-up hottie plopped himself on his lap, rendering Cas both speechless and breathless.)

He watches his brother eat his potato with a fucking knife and fork and shakes his head. 

“It could _all_ be new if you’d just get out and _do_ something,” Gabe retorts around his mouthful of food, now sufficiently cooled. “I know this is crazy, but you could use your car to actually go to places that aren’t work.” He sips his Mountain Dew, then shoves another potato skin in his mouth.

“I’m aware. And I do.”

“Going to hang out with Inias and Hannah is hardly going anyplace else.”

“God, Gabe, _chew_. Preferably with your mouth closed. And slow down.” He adds, softer, “The food isn’t going anywhere.”

“Shut up,” he retorts, flushing at the gentle reminder. Food isn’t something he ever takes for granted. He swallows and takes another sip of his soda. “Stop avoiding my very reasonable argument about your lack of socializing.”

Cas sighs. “And you care about my socializing _why_?”

“You know why, you asshole, don’t make me say it.”

“I’m fine, Gabe. I have Ini and Hann, and I have Ginny Fig.”

Gabriel shakes his head at the reminder of Ginny Fig the guinea pig. “Dude, you need a life.”

“I have a life.” His attention turns to the boisterous table nearby. 

Gabe follows Cas’ line of vision to several men, clad in bright yellow-green shirts topped with vests with reflective strips, jeans, and tan work boots. He thinks it’s the group that followed him in. He spares an extra moment of appreciation—mmm, he can enjoy a fine-looking logger, yes indeed, and there are some nice specimens there—but returns his attention to Cas and his weekly motivational talk about him getting more social interaction than a fucking knitting circle. 

But Cas is still focused on the other table. 

Intensely so.

Gabe flicks his eyes again to the table, then at his brother. “See something you like?”

Guiltily, Cas looks back at him. “What? No,” he stammers, though the fumbling of his utensils tells Gabe differently.

“Which one?”

“None of them, drop it.”

“C’mon, my little baby gay, which one?”

“Stop it, he’ll hear you,” he hisses.

“Who will hear me?” Gabe asks, slightly louder.

“Shh!”

“I’ll keep getting louder until you tell me.”

He relents. “The one with his back to the wall _looking right this way so please don’t look yet._ ”

Gabe peers at the guy, making no secret of it, then turns his head lazily back to Cas. “Can’t make babies if you can’t say hi. Go talk to him.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not doing that!”

“Why not? He’s cute, if you like that sort of thing.”

“He’s _beautiful_ , way out of my league, and probably not interested in men, so you’re going to sit there and lecture me about my life like you always do and you’re going to _stop looking at him_.”

Their server brings their entrees, so Gabe lets the subject drop for now. He watches with amusement, though, as Cas’ eyes drift back to the object of his lust over and over again. He wonders if Cas even realizes he’s doing it. 

“Hey.”

“What?”

“If you don’t want him to know you’re looking, don’t make it so damn obvious.”

“I’m not!” He straightens his tie, then pulls at his collar. The dummy doesn’t have to wear a suit—he signs the paychecks, he can dress in _pajamas_ if he wants—but he does. 

“Oh, you poor bastard.”

“Shut up. I’m not looking.”

“Uh huh.”

He glances over at the guy, then back at Gabe, leaning forward to speak confidentially. “It’s just...I’ve seen him at a couple of our other restaurants before, and he seems so _nice_. Everyone likes him. He’s always smiling, always friendly and full of life. It’s...it’s attractive.”

“Yeah, I can see that. So go for it.”

He glances quickly again, then turns back and runs a hand through his hair. “Go for it. I already told you why that’s a bad idea. Besides, you’re the one telling me how boring I am.”

“That’s because you have no life. You get that guy, your life gets a whole lot more interesting.”

“I...it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Just forget about it, please.”

Cas pulls out the month-end numbers out of his bag as they work on their meals. The longing glances don’t stop, though. Gabe feels bad. Cas isn’t exactly a virgin, but pretty close, and he’s so shy about matters of romance that he’ll probably never attempt to approach a person like Outdoor Oscar over there. Instead, he’ll end up with some mousy lady who pulls him off the sidewalk when he’s passing by her church or something. 

“I still think you should go for it,” Gabe tries one more time.

Cas looks over again, then scowls at him. “No. I wouldn’t know the first thing to say, and I don’t need to humiliate myself, thank you.”

“Fine, fine.” He stands up to use the bathroom. “But this isn’t over. I'll be right back. Order me some coffee and a piece of that chocolate peanut butter cheesecake when Brina comes around.”

Gabe greets a few of their staff and guests as he walks by. He shoulders the door open and looks at the well-appointed restroom. Like the rest of the place, it’s nice, upscale but not fussy, a place where anyone can enjoy a taste of the finer things but not feel out of place. It’s what he and Cas wanted—a place for everyone, a place that made you feel important, like you belonged. They hadn’t felt like they belonged to anyone but each other for years, so they always made sure that they made spaces that cultivated that sense of belonging, whether that was a shared bed when they were little, a fort they made in the woods at that one foster home, or their own home, which has separate bedroom suites but a huge, open kitchen/dining room/living room for maximum togetherness (of mostly Gabe’s football and poker buddies, sure, but Cas is working on it).

After taking care of business and washing his hands, Gabe sighs. Sometimes he wonders if they’re too close, if he’s held Cas back. He never even _asked_ Cas if he wanted to move to Wyoming with him, he just told him to pack his shit so they could beat it the hell out of California. Hell, Cas was still a kid when they came here. Life at the foster home sucked, though, so he figured he was justified, and Cas never complained, even thanked him once for taking him with him. Still, he doesn’t want Cas to feel like he owes him, like he can’t make his own choices or...leave him. He wants Cas to live for himself.

And to get some ass every so often.

Gabe leaves the bathroom and walks back toward their table, wondering if maybe he can convince Cas to hit up a couple of bars or clubs this weekend, just for something different. He knows he’ll have to work him over pretty hard to convince him.

When he catches sight of him, though, all of his thoughts fly out the window because _Cas is upset_. 

“The hell?” Gabe growls, ready to fight whoever or whatever put that vacant look in his eyes.

“Nothing,” Cas mutters, fumbling with the papers on the table and sighing as a few of them spill to the floor. “I need to go.”

“Hold up, wait, what—”

“I upset him—”

Gabe looks up just in time to see the man that Cas had been looking at clomping out the door on bow legs. He puts two and two together. “Oh, _fuck_ no, fuck him and fuck that shit.” 

“No, Gabe, don’t—”

But Gabriel, in his righteous anger, doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence as he gives chase to the guy who dared to say shit to his brother.

“Hey! Asshole!” Gabe yells across the parking lot.

The guy turns. “The name’s Dean Winchester.”

“And yet you still knew I was talking to you.” He marches up to the spineless, dickless excuse of a human being. “The fuck’s your problem?”

“ _My_ problem? The fuck’s your buddy’s problem?”

“His horrible taste in men, apparently. The fuck? He gives you a little attention and your fragile male ego shakes in its tiny boots? Are you that inadequate? Sorry you didn’t like it, but for fuck’s sake, grow up, grow a pair, and be flattered my brother even glanced your way. Go crawl into your backwoods hole and don’t even think about stepping foot into any of our businesses ever again. We don’t welcome fucking homophobic pricks.”

“Homo—”

“If you don’t know which businesses they are, remember Gabriel Novak. I’ll sure as hell remember you. In fact—” 

Just then, he feels strong hands around his arms. “Gabe, _enough_ ,” Cas says, half-demand and half-plea, as he turns him around and marches him away. 

It’s _not_ enough—not nearly enough—but he got a couple of verbal licks in, and that’ll have to do. 

Unless the guy shows his face again.

Then they’re gonna have a problem.


	2. Sam

“Was that necessary?”

“‘Was that necessary?’”

Sam Winchester rolls his eyes at his ridiculous brother, Dean, and his high-pitched, mocking response. “Look, I know you were having a bad day, but you didn’t have to start trouble.”

“The hell I didn’t. He wouldn’t stop looking at us.”

“So what? He didn’t say or do anything.”

“Not the point. He didn’t have to go and be all snooty with his nice suit and manicured hands.”

Sam smirks. “Manicured hands, huh? You noticed his hands?”

Dean shakes his head. “Shut up,” he growls, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks that he would surely blame on adrenaline.

Sam isn’t fooled. He knows his brother enough to know he was attracted to the handsome guy the next table over from them. They’d seen him before, at a couple of the more casual restaurants they frequented and once at a “Strut Your Mutt” fundraiser for their local humane society. He was strutting a guinea pig, which was adorable and he knew Dean found downright precious even if he grumbled about the guy not following the rules. 

“I’d still like to know what the fuck that other guy was going on about,” Dean mutters. “Homophobic. What the fuck did that have to do with anything?”

That one is a mystery to Sam, too. He shrugs. They sit in silence the rest of the way to the office. They split their time between the office and the forest. Sam doesn’t mind too much, actually prefers the office, but it drives Dean nuts. He’d rather be in the woods. Their Uncle Bobby insists on him learning the ropes, though, so they can both take over once he retires. At thirty-two and twenty-eight, they’re not quite ready to be at the office full-time just yet, and at sixty-one, Bobby isn’t ready to let them, but the time is coming for all of them. Better to be prepared. 

They stride into the office, Dean with a black cloud over his head. 

“What burrowed into yer ass and rotted?” Bobby addresses Dean gruffly. “Thought y’all were treatin’ the crew to a fancy lunch today for finishin’ that job.”

“We did,” Dean mutters.

“And? Your vichyssoise givin’ you the runs or somethin’?”

“The hell is vichyssoise?”

Bobby shrugs. “Hell if I know.”

“It’s soup,” Sam explains, but he’s ignored. 

“So what’s yer problem?”

Dean sighs. “Something happened and now Sam’s all pissed off at me.”

Bobby raises a brow at Sam. Sam acknowledges that Dean is correct with a nod.

“What happened?”

Sam leans against the wall. “Yeah, Dean, what happened? Share with the class.” 

Collapsing into a chair that’s so tattered the foam filling is peeking out from beneath the marbled green vinyl, Dean folds his arms and explains, “We were having lunch and it was fine. But there was this guy, and he kept looking our way, and every time I’d look back he’d turn away. He was with another guy and they kept whispering and shit. I figured they were talking about us, so—”

“How’d you figure they were talkin’ about you?”

“The first guy was in a suit, all dressed up. We were dressed like we always are, of course. Didn’t really fit into the vibe, I’m guessing, and with the way he wouldn’t stop looking at us and then lookin’ at the other guy all scowling and shit, what else could it have been?”

“Coulda been anythin’, but go on.”

“So I confronted him.”

“Aww, Jesus, Dean—”

“Hey, I already had Sam bitch at me, all right?”

“With good reason,” Sam argues.

“I had good reason, too—”

“Fine, go on, go on,” Bobby interrupts.

“So I confronted the guy. He apologized but do you think he’d look me in the face? Nope. He said some stuff, whatever—”

“Why don’t you be more accurate, Dean? Why don’t you tell him about how you marched up to the poor guy and asked him what his problem was and made him so nervous he _couldn’t_ look at you, and how the guy _apologized profusely_ , said he _didn’t_ have a problem with us being there, and offered to cover the meals for the entire table for making you uncomfortable?”

“ _Couldn’t_ look at me, Sam? He was doing plenty of looking at me until I walked up to him.”

“Like I said, you were making him _nervous_.”

“Yeah, well, good.”

“Not everyone’s out to get you, you know.”

Dean sighs gustily. “Whatever. Anyway, I left to catch up with the rest of the guys ‘cause they abandoned me, next thing I knew this guy’s friend came out and flipped out on me.”

“Okay, what’d’ya expect?”

“I mean, I wasn’t shocked, I guess, but nothing he said was making sense. He was calling me homophobic. _Me_ , homophobic. And I have no idea where that came from—what did that have to do with anything?”

“Were they gay? Maybe they get a lot of homophobic shit thrown their way. Ain’t unlikely in these parts.”

“But I didn’t say anything homophobic!”

Bobby and Dean keep talking, but Sam thinks about the scene that didn’t make sense to him, either. Bobby’s question about them being gay starts rolling around in his mind...until, like the old fluorescent in Storage Room #1 that flickers until it lights up all at once, Sam finally figures it out.

“Dean, was he really looking at all of us or just at you?” 

Dean turns to him with a furrowed brow. “What?”

“The dark-haired guy. Could he have been checking you out? Like, could he have been attracted to you?”

The question seems to stymie Dean’s train of thought. 

“I mean, c’mon, that much looking? And he was all nervous and apologetic after? And that Gabriel guy, his _brother_ , said that he had ‘horrible taste in men’, then said you should’ve been flattered that his brother looked at you before calling you a homophobic prick? It makes a lot more sense than the guy thinking we didn’t belong there.”

It takes a couple of minutes of silence and an agreement from Bobby about Sam’s theory before Dean speaks.

“Shit.”

* * *

“Yup, pretty gay,” their friend Charlie declares, staring at her laptop. “And pretty nice, from what I can tell. All his employees _love_ him.”

“Told you,” Sam says. 

“Fuuuuuck,” Dean groans. He slumps down their nubby plaid couch. “All the times I saw him around, wondering if he’d be cool, and it turns out he is _and_ he might’ve been interested but my dumb ass thought he was just another asshole and went off on him.”

“You messed up bad.”

“Yeah, thanks, Charlie. Sam’s already told me.”

“No, I mean you really fucked up. He co-owns some of your favorite places to eat…Bandits, The Depot, Meat Street...ooh, and Rogue, that’s my fave...”

“Uggghhhh...”

“...and Beehive…”

“No, not my _bakery_!”

“... _and_ he’s a huge donor to Wyoming Equality and kids’ charities…”

“Come on…”

“... _and_ he windsurfs. Check out the bod on him.”

Sam and Dean both peer at Charlie’s screen displaying Castiel Novak in a wetsuit, his hair being tousled by the ever-present wind on Lake Hattie. He’s...buff. 

“Damn,” Sam says, adding a whistle.

Dean whines.

“He’s got some major cashola, too. Now I know you don’t care about money much, but what’s impressive about it is he and his bro didn’t even make it with the restaurants, they made it with some doohickey they sold for big bucks. So he’s super-smart, too. _And_ according to this website, they were still in foster care when they started developing it and they were days from homelessness when they sold it. Crazy, right? They grew up in the system, ran away to Wyoming by themselves when Castiel was only fifteen, and worked their asses off to be where they are.”

“Wow,” Dean murmurs.

“I bet he’d really get you, what you guys went through, you know? I think you’d have a lot in common.”

“Figures. Fuck my life.”

“And you’re really gonna kick yourself...check out the ‘Vette he drives.”

Dean does, then makes a little sobbing noise as he drops his head onto a throw pillow. “Why am I such an asshole?” he moans.

As a little brother, Sam would love to answer that sarcastically, but as a fellow escapee from their shitty life circumstances, he answers honestly. “Because you’ve dealt with a lot of assholes.”

He grunts.

“Maybe you could apologize to him.”

With a sigh, Dean sits up. “Seems like the least I should do.”

“The _very_ least,” Charlie agrees.

“Yeah, thanks again.”

“I can tag along,” Sam offers.

“Thanks, but I should probably go alone. I don’t even know how to reach him, though.”

“He has an office number here. Call it? Set up an appointment?” Charlie suggests.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

* * *

The plan does not go well.

“He never calls me back,” Dean whines a week later. 

“Kinda set yourself up for that.”

“Yeah, but is it because he doesn’t wanna talk to me or because he’s not getting the messages? Maybe someone screens his calls.”

Sam shrugs. 

“And when I go to the restaurants he owns, everyone scowls at me and no one will tell me anything.”

“So word has traveled.”

“I guess.”

Sam wipes sweat and sawdust off his brow. The dust is inevitable, no matter how much protective gear they wear. “Bet his brother has something to do with that.”

“Yeah, probably. Prick.”

“Prick?” Sam huffs. “Dean, if someone lost their shit on me, you’d do the same thing.”

Dean admits he’s right with a frown and a nod. “I don’t know what else to do. I could mail something to him, I guess, or send him an email, but he’d probably see my name and toss it. Or I’d get reported for harassment or something. His brother probably has an in with the police department.”

“Or with a good defense attorney,” Sam murmurs. From his own research and Charlie’s, it appears Gabriel Novak did what he had to do to survive when he was younger, much like they did. “Maybe you need to talk to him to get to Castiel.”

“Oh, that oughta go well. He’s probably waiting for me with fuckin’ hellhounds poised to attack.”

“Probably. Like you would.”

“Yeah. Kinda have to admire him for it, I guess.” He removes his helmet and safety glasses and ruffles his sweat-soaked hair. “What the hell. Nothing to lose. ’Cept my nuts, maybe. You know that Gabriel guy would train his hounds to go for the junk.”

Sam can’t help a chuckle. “I’ll go, too. Maybe I can smooth the way. Or I can at least remove your body from the premises.”

“Thanks a lot.”

* * *

“Get out.”

“Please, just hear me out. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for days now,” Dean begs a snarling Gabriel Novak while Sam watches warily. The guy is _pissed._

“Unless you want me to punch you in the face, which _I’ve_ been wanting to do since I met you, you should go.”

“I think there was a misunderstanding.”

“I didn’t misunderstand a damn thing.”

“I think you did”—he throws up his hands in supplication when Gabriel scowls—“but I did, too, big time. Please, can we talk?” 

The shorter man’s brow twitches. “I guess. Follow me.”

Sam follows Dean and Gabriel into a small office at the back of Laramie’s best bakery, Beehive, where Gabriel goes every Friday to grab a pie for the weekend, according to their intel from Charlie. They’d been waiting for two hours when Gabriel finally showed up.

“Okay, what?” Gabriel asks, spinning on them as soon as the door clicks shut.

“I thought your brother was staring at us because of who we are.”

“Who you are? What, are you Kardashians?”

“I mean how we were dressed and shit. Pretty clear we’re not white collar.”

Gabriel shoots Dean the most unimpressed look Sam’s ever seen. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“’Cause people do. Been judged a lot in my life.”

“Yeah, well, sorry for your experiences or whatever, but Cas doesn’t judge on that shit.” 

Dean nods as he rubs his neck. “Yeah. Uh, so, was he...checking me out? Is that what was happening?”

“Yeah, that’s what was happening, numbnuts. Haven’t you been checked out before?”

“Um...I mean, yeah. He was just kind of...intense.”

“Yeah, well, he’s like that.” 

Dean deflates, his shoulders drooping. “He never corrected me. I accused him of giving us shit for what we were wearing and just, you know, us not fitting in, and he never said anything.”

Gabe folds his arms. “You were all pissed off and confrontational. He knows not to fight unless the fight is worth it.”

The statement is delivered with such gravitas that Sam knows there must be something behind it—something to do with their pasts, probably. 

Dean seems to realize it, too. “I feel like shit, man.”

“Good.”

“I’m not...I’m not homophobic. I mean, I’m bi.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. Plenty of people have internalized homophobia.”

“Okay, but I’m not one of those people. I just...didn’t know he was interested. And it doesn’t offend me that he was. I mean, it’s a compliment.”

“Damn right it is.”

“I just don’t understand...I wish he’d said something.”

“Like I said, you were pissed off. Forgive him for thinking you wouldn’t be receptive to a little flirting. Which he is horrible at, by the way.”

Dean presses the heels of his hands against his brow bones. “I fucked up.” 

“You sure did. Too bad, too. He’s a good guy. Selfless, works hard, cares about people, all that shit. Athletic. Well-off. Likes...manly men.” Gabe’s eyes roam the length of Dean’s body. “He’d seen you before at some of our other restaurants. Said how friendly he thought you were, how handsome and nice, ‘full of life,’ blah blah blah. Until he met you face-to-face, anyway. Doubt he has that opinion anymore.”

“Fuck.”

Sam feels terrible for his brother. Dean really is a nice, if flawed, guy. His hackles raise when he thinks his family—in this case, the Singer Lumber crew—is being threatened or put down in any way. Family is extremely important to him, and Dean...well, he’s passionate about who and what he loves, and that gets him into trouble sometimes. But he tries.

“Can I...I could make it up to him, couldn’t I? Take him out to dinner, talk, tell him it was a shitty fuck-up on my part?”

“Why do you want to take him out to dinner? Sounds like a date.”

Dean tucks his hands into his pockets, his eyes flicking briefly to the floor. “Well, I mean, you said he was interested—”

“ _Was_ , bucko. He won’t get within ten feet of you now. And he doesn’t need a pity date, thanks.”

“It’s not a pity date—”

“Sounds like one—”

“It’s not.”

Gabriel purses his lips.

“Listen, I know I was a jerk. I take full responsibility and if I get the chance to take him out I will apologize until I can’t speak—”

“It’s not that. He’s the most forgiving guy I know.”

“Then what is it?”

“He’s embarrassed, you idiot.”

“I should be the embarrassed one. Hell, I _am_ embarrassed, and I’d like to make it up to him. And hey, if he’s as nice as you say, it’d be great to get to know him better—”

“He’s not gonna go for that. He’s shy, man, and it was a lot for him to even look twice at you.”

Dean tosses his hands helplessly. “Can you help me out? Talk to him, let him know I’d like to apologize?”

“You hurt him, and frankly, I’d rather not give you another chance.”

There were a lot of people who didn’t want to give Dean another chance over the years, people who had no idea what a great guy he really was once you got past his tough-guy exterior. It’s hard for Sam to hear, because Dean would give you everything he had if you showed him or his family even a speck of goodwill. He’d settle for so much less than he deserved—in fact, he often did, and it got him hurt more times than Sam can count. He has to say something.

“Can I talk to you alone?” Sam asks Gabriel. 

Both Gabriel and Dean arch their brows. Must be a big brother move. 

“Sam,” Dean starts, “I don’t need—”

“You do. Go. I’ll be right out.”

Shockingly, he goes. He must be _really_ desperate.

“Okay, Redwood, what gives?” Gabriel asks, folding his arms and leaning against the desk. 

“Castiel is your little brother, right?”

“Yeah. Sounds like you knew that already.”

“We did, uh, research.”

The man nods—impressed, maybe, but who knows? “Go on.”

“Well, Dean’s my big brother, and I know big brothers are supposed to look out for little brothers, but this time, I have to look out for Dean.”

“That’s very touching.”

Sam ignores the man’s snide remark. “Dean is...we had a hard life. Dean basically raised me. He sacrificed everything, and he still does. Your brother’s first impression of him is right—he’s a great guy. A guy who puts his foot in his mouth a lot, but a great guy nonetheless. He was having a bad day—”

“Your brother’s bad day shouldn’t have become my brother’s bad day.”

“I know,” Sam acknowledges with placating hands. “And he knows. He messed up, jumped to conclusions way too fast. It wasn’t about Dean himself, though, you know. If he felt like he was the one being insulted or whatever, he would’ve blown it off, but he thought he was defending _us_. It’s what he does. 

“He lost his cool with your brother, and that pissed you off. I get that. I wouldn’t want anyone to mess with my brother, either...which is why I have to tell you that you’ve got him all wrong. He made a mistake, that’s all, and he knows it and he’s really sorry. Dean, he...he’ll probably kill me for telling you this, but he had a little thing for your brother before all this happened, and I think he overreacted because he sort of hoped this cute guy he saw around town wasn’t a jerk and then found out he was—except he wasn’t, I know, he was interested in Dean, but with Dean’s self-esteem and history and...never mind. Anyway, I don’t know Castiel, but if he’s as nice as everyone says, I know that Dean would treat him right, whether they end up dating or not. He’d become family, and as you saw, family’s important to him.”

Gabriel stares at him impassively. His poker face is brilliant. Sam plows on, not sure if he’s really getting through but trying anyway.

“So, I dunno, I was hoping maybe you could talk to your brother, get him to just meet Dean properly. It really upset Dean to think that he hurt him. We know a lot about hurt, and he avoids it as much as he can. He’d just like to make amends. And personally, I’d like to see if there’s interest between them. I get the feeling that our brothers don’t do enough for themselves. I know Dean doesn’t. He has no life for himself outside of work and family stuff. You might not believe it yet, but he really is great and he deserves to have a great person in his life, someone just for him. I’m sure Cas does, too.”

Despite his size, Gabriel’s presence and attitude is huge. That attitude fills the space. Sam waits, holding his breath. 

Gabriel twists his mouth as he tilts his head back and forth. “All right,” he says. “I’m willing to talk.”


	3. Gabe

The first gift comes to The Depot the Monday after Gabe’s conversation with the Winchester brothers. He _was_ moved, a smidge, by Sam Winchester’s speech about his brother, as Gabe knew he himself had certainly fucked up a few times in his life. Dean did seem sincere, and after a lifetime of sussing out the good people from the bad, Gabe’s senses were sharpened to that sort of thing.

Still, he couldn’t make it easy on him.

He and Sam came up with a plan. Sam was pleased with it because Dean would both get to make amends _and_ look like a bit of a hero, or at least the lead in some romantic movie. Gabe was pleased with it because it would both ensure that Dean’s groveling was done at a safe distance and give Cas a little adventure in his life, which he sorely needed. Dean was hesitant (“Are you guys sure about this?”), but agreed. It surprised Gabe, given what they suggested, and it impressed him a little, too. 

He's not on the guy’s side yet, though. He has to prove himself.

“For you, Cas,” Gabe calls from the doorway to his brother, who’s sitting in the shoebox-sized office in front of the computer, his blue-blocker glasses reflecting it in a rosy hue. 

Cas looks up. His brows knit together. “Those are for me?”

“Yup.”

“Why did you get me chocolates?”

“I didn’t, dumbass. Why would I give you chocolates when I could keep them for myself?”

“True.” He takes them and reads the note taped to the top. “ _These can’t compare to how sweet you are, but I hope you’ll like them anyway._ Is this a joke?”

“No, it’s not a joke, asshat, it’s a gift.”

“Who are they from?”

“Dunno,” Gabe shrugs. “Looks like you got a secret admirer.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Now I _know_ it’s a joke. Not funny, Gabe.”

“I didn’t do anything! These were here when I arrived!” (Which is technically true, since Dean waited for him in the parking lot because no one would let him in unless Gabe gave the okay. Ah, it’s nice to have power.)

“Really?”

“Really! Besides, why would I do that?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ you do that?”

“Because you ain’t Jan, I ain’t Alice, and that ain’t a locket. I’m not your secret admirer. Open the damn box.”

Cas squints at him, but turns his attention back to the box. “It wasn’t anyone on staff, was it?”

“Doubt it.”

“Hmm.”

“Listen, it’s free chocolate. Shut up and enjoy it.”

Cas scowls, but opens the box and eats one of the dark chocolate pecan caramel clusters, a look of bliss flitting over his features. They’re his favorite, which is what Gabe told Dean. He got it just right, even going to the confectionery in town for the more expensive stuff.

“Aren’t you gonna offer me one?”

“No way, get your own,” Cas answers, already diving in for a second cluster. 

Gabe smiles.

The next day, they’re at Rogue, and the special delivery is a large hazelnut coffee with fancy foam on top. “ _Wanted to make you smile first thing in the morning, which is tough for all of us_. Who left this?” Cas asks, putting aside the coffee he brought from home in favor of the new one.

“No clue.”

“You were out front. You didn’t see who brought it in?”

“Nope,” he lies. 

“Whatever, it’s coffee,” Cas mutters, then takes a sip and hums happily. 

On day three, it’s a flash drive, dropped off just after Cas left Meat Street for the day (or that’s what Gabe told him, anyway). 

“It’s cute. Look, it looks like a cassette tape on the outside. Like a mixtape,” Cas says.

“Neato.”

“Yes. I’m afraid to open it. I hope there’s no virus.” 

Gabe snorts. “Live a little,” he encourages him, plopping onto the couch beside Cas with a _whoosh-thud._

“Mmm.” He unfolds the note that came with it. “ _When I’m lonely, music helps me feel like I’m not alone. Hope it makes you feel like you have a friend beside you, too._ Hmm. He’s lonely. Or she. Or they. Or...I don’t even know. I should find out; I don’t want to lead them on—”

“He.”

“He? You know that for sure?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“Hmm,” he says again, the corners of his mouth perking up. He inserts the drive into his laptop. 

“Led Zeppelin,” Cas murmurs as “Fool in the Rain” begins. “Remember that one foster home where she worked nights? We had the Zepp cover band.”

“Some band...you with your shitty electric guitar with no amp that you didn’t even know how to play, me with a kid’s drum set from Goodwill, and Justin with his fuckin’ keyboard.”

“Let’s face it, the band was just an excuse to drink.”

“True. Fuck, that lady was so buzzed half the time, she never knew were were raiding her stash.”

They snicker, though it’s not funny. Gabriel knew it was the wrong place for Cas, even if the drinking was fun and helped them escape for a while. The drinking was bad enough, but her series of shitty boyfriends was just as bad, if not worse. Gabe put up a huge ruckus there, and when they still wouldn’t remove the two of them from the home, he tattled on the foster parent. 

“Still wish I’d learned to actually play guitar.”

“Dude, you have money. Put down the knitting needles, buy a guitar, and take lessons.”

“Nah.”

“Pathetic.”

Cas flips him off. 

“Maybe your secret admirer knows how to play.”

“Maybe.” He tilts his head against the back of the couch, a faraway look in his eyes. “That would be nice. I wonder who he is.”

Cas closes his eyes, smiling, and sings along with Robert Plant. 

Gabe smiles, too, happy to see his brother relaxed and content. 

The fourth day brings a plush guinea pig. The note reads _You give me the warm and fuzzies_ and is tied to the stuffed toy’s neck. The squeal that comes out of Cas’ mouth is reminiscent of a 12-year-old girl at her first boy band concert, only deeper. He’s so damn _excited_ that Gabe can’t help but soften a bit toward Dean Winchester.

On day five, Gabe is pretty sure the staff at Beehive are going to melt into the floor. 

“Oh my God, Cas, come see! He got you flowers!”

“You have to meet him!”

“He’s so thoughtful and sweet!”

“I wish _I_ had a secret admirer, you lucky ducky!”

“These are for me?” Cas questions, a delighted glow in his eyes. Beside him, Gabe watches as Cas nuzzles his face into the bouquet and inhales deeply. He wasn’t sure if Cas would like them or not, but since his brother isn’t into the toxic masculinity shit, he told Dean it was worth a try. Clearly, it was a good call.

“What’s the card say?” Tracy, their hostess, asks.

Cas plucks the card from the pitchfork-shaped card holder. “ _I hope these brighten your day like you brighten mine._ I don’t...I don’t know how I could possibly brighten his day when I don’t even know who he is.”

“By being you, of course!” Tracy tells him with a grin and a squeeze of his arm.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Gabe knows, just by watching the shy smile creep onto Cas’ face, that he doesn’t think he’s worthy of this...but also that he loves it. In the last week, Cas has been happier, even _singing_ around the house and coming home from work at reasonable hours. 

That night, he catches Cas staring at the flowers, now the centerpiece on their table, as he listens to the mix his admirer sent him. “I just don’t understand, Gabe,” Cas says, as if anticipating the _What’s wrong?_ on Gabe’s lips. “Who is he? What does he see in me? _How_ can he see anything in me? I don’t interact with him that I know of. He seems to know things about me, though, and he... likes me, and I know nothing about him.”

Gabe swings one of the dining room chairs around and sits in it backwards. “Does it bother you?”

“A little.”

“Why? Don’t you deserve to be spoiled? I mean, damn, Cas, you haven’t gotten much of that in your life.”

“Well, sure, I guess, but he’s doing all these nice things and I can’t reciprocate.”

“So? You’re the admired one; you’re not supposed to reciprocate.”

“I’m not comfortable with that. And I want to reciprocate, at least emotionally. I don’t know anything about him; I don’t even know if we're compatible. It’s fun to have a secret admirer and all, but I think it would be more fun to get to know him. He’s thoughtful, obviously, and sweet and generous, and that’s a great start, but he knows how I like my coffee and my favorite candy and I’d like to know those things about him, too. I’d like to just... talk, I guess.”

_Hmm. Perhaps it’s time to let him know a little more about his secret admirer. But…_ “What if there's a reason he’s not telling you?”

“Like what?”

“Like he has the world’s worst halitosis. Or he’s a porn star. Or he’s a big bag of dicks.”

“I assume halitosis can be remedied. I’m not sure why a porn star would live in Wyoming, but if he’s a porn star, we can talk about that. And as for being a bag of dicks, that seems unlikely. Everything he’s shown me so far suggests he’s a great guy.”

Gabe heroically suppresses an eye roll. _Maybe not everything, or he wouldn’t have to do all this shit._

“Honestly, I’m still worried this is all some practical joke.”

Gabe grimaces. He wanted Cas to feel special, not played, and if they let this go on too long, it might backfire. And hell, the guy may yet prove to be a tool, but maybe Dean’s earned a chance. 

“Well, how about leaving him a note?”


	4. Sam

Dean hasn’t stopped smiling all day, and it’s _weird._ He never smiles this much. 

Sam knows the source powering that megawatt smile that looks like a floodlight in a mine, though, which is comforting, given that otherwise he’d think his brother is possessed.

“He wants to know about me,” Dean says for at least the fifth time today. 

“Yup.”

Dean checks the riggings for the tree they’re about to fell. He’s careful—always careful about safety—but Sam can tell his mind is still on the note that was waiting for him this morning:

_Hello stranger :) I’m baffled as to why you’re interested in me, but flattered. I feel awful that I know nothing about you and therefore cannot do anything to brighten your days the way you have brightened mine. So, if you’re amenable, I’d like to chat. (This will necessitate knowing where you will drop your notes off so that I’m not writing multiple copies of the same note and leaving them everywhere, like I’m doing with this one.) Would you tell me about yourself?_

_Either way, I want to thank you for the thoughtful gifts and the thoughtful notes that came with them. I imagine you must be a very kind person, and that is something I value. Please know you don’t have to continue to spend your money—I enjoy the gifts, but honestly, I enjoy the notes more. :)_

_-Cas_

“What am I gonna say?” 

“Uh, I don’t know, Dean. Maybe something like ‘Okay, let’s talk’?”

“Yeah, but what if we start talking and he figures out who I am?”

“You want to tell him eventually.”

“Yeah, but what if he finds out too soon and bolts?”

“You’re overthinking it. Just send him a note.” 

That night, Sam is washing dishes while Dean sits at their kitchen table. He watches as Dean chews on his lip and taps his pen— _tap, tap, taptaptaptap—_ as he thinks of something to write to Castiel. It seems like a ridiculous amount of thought to put into a note that should say _Yeah, sure, I’d love to chat,_ but Sam tries not to be too judgy about it. Dean doesn’t exercise these particular emotional muscles too often, so the stretch probably burns a bit.

“You need some help?”

“I don’t need help from my little brother about how to write a note.”

“No, but you might need help from your little brother about how to write a note _to your secret cruuuush_.” 

Dean points his pen at him. “Shut your face.”

He does feel bad for Dean. Saying _anything_ about himself in a way that’s flattering is not his forte. “Dean, just tell him little things about you.”

“Guess I won’t tell him about my dick, then.”

Sam rolls his eyes skyward as Dean snickers. “Dean.”

“What?”

“Do, like, a favorites list or something—favorite pie flavor, favorite movie, et cetera.”

“What is this, fourth grade?”

“You’re the one writing to a secret crush.”

“You and Gabriel are the ones that put me up to it.”

“You’re the one who agreed.”

Dean grunts, putting pen to paper now. “Fine. Go make yourself useful.”

Sam glowers at him, but the effect is lost as Dean’s attention is already gone. 

Dean spends all of the time it takes for Sam to wash, dry, and put away the dishes writing his note (Sam thinks that was likely to get out of helping). When it’s finished, Dean lets him take a look. It’s good. Nothing earth-shattering, nothing deep, but good. Sam tells him so, and he sees his brother relax. That idiotic smile comes back—muted, but there. 

“I hope this works,” Dean says.

Sam hopes so, too.

* * *

It works.

Too well, because now Sam has to put up with Dean talking about Castiel like he talks about his favorite wrestlers—enthusiastically, often, and with a little too much innuendo for Sam’s liking.

The men trade notes and small gifts back and forth, each note less and less superficial, according to Dean. He was showing Sam the notes at first, sharing all the new information about Castiel— _Cas_ , Dean calls him, and now Sam does, too—but he hasn’t seen any recently. He knows they’re still exchanging them, though, because Dean’s goofy grin is still painted on his face daily and because when he did ask, he was told the notes were none of his business. “They’re personal, Sammy,” he’d explained, and when Sam said he was grateful he didn’t get to see them because he’d probably need brain bleach, Dean corrected him by saying, “I don’t mean that kind of personal, I mean _personal_ personal” with a quiet voice and a soft expression. 

Dean still relies on Gabriel as his go-between sometimes, but not as much. Apparently Cas was getting suspicious of Gabriel being around so often, as his usual managerial style is “do what you gotta do to make me the money, as long as I don’t have to be there” and his excuse of “I’m trying to do better” wasn’t believable when all he did was distract the staff and eat, so Gabriel had to back off some. The employees know Dean now, though, so they help. Sam helps sometimes, too, to keep the air of secrecy, and he and Gabriel will coordinate (and talk about the endless dumbassery of their brothers). 

He’s not sure how much longer Dean can keep things secret, though. Or how much he should. Sam’s watched Dean pine for a month now, and the more he gets to know Cas, the worse it gets. Cas has become so much more than the attractive guy he’d seen around town that he fantasized about banging (because he knows Dean did) and more than the guy he has to apologize to for being an asshole. He has a personality and feelings that Dean considers and thinks about throughout his days. He’s a real person, and Dean...well, Sam thinks Dean’s falling for him. 

“Maybe you guys should meet,” Sam tells him one day as they’re eating dinner at Spaghetti Avenue, Cas and Gabriel’s Italian bistro. “It’s time, don’t you think? I mean, he’s gotten to know the real you and he seems to like you.”

Dean fiddles with the paper wrapper of his straw, rolling it into a tight ball. “He likes Stranger.” The nickname Cas gave Dean in his first note stuck. 

“He likes _you_.”

“Yeah, well, he might not once he finds out.”

“You really think he won’t forgive you for that?”

“I don’t know.” 

Sam shakes his head. Damn their upbringing (or lack thereof) and Dean’s poor self-esteem. “I think he will, especially once he knows how hard you worked.”

Dean flicks his eyes toward the pink Formica table and shrugs, and that’s the end of that conversation.

For Dean, anyway. 

“I think they should meet,” Sam says in lieu of a greeting when Gabriel answers his phone. 

“You couldn’t text that? I’m in the middle of a facial.”

Sam doesn’t even want to ask. Instead, he continues, “Can you make it happen?”

“Maybe.”

“Can you make it happen or not, man?”

“Jeez, your tighty-whities a little too tight, bucko?”

The man is infuriating, but he can get shit done, so Sam swallows his pride and asks, “Please? Dean...he’s not doing well. I think this back-and-forth they’re doing is actually making things harder for him because he’s starting to have feelings for Cas, and the more he feels for him, the more scared he is that he’s gonna lose him.”

Gabriel sighs. “Yeah, I get it. Cas...well, yeah, I think he needs to meet his secret admirer, too.” 

“Good. So, how about one of the restaurants?”

“Mmm, no, let’s make it on neutral territory.”

Sam nods, even though Gabriel can’t see it. “Okay, sure.”

“We’re going to the Pride march on Saturday. Maybe you guys can just happen to bump into us and Dean can offer his apology, and if that goes well, he can reveal himself.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll run it by Dean.”

* * *

Dean agrees, even thinks it’s a great idea (“He can see I’m not a homophobe before we even talk,” he reasoned when Sam mentioned it), so on Saturday they dress in their “gayest finery” (Dean’s words) and march.

“Oh God, he’s right there,” Dean whispers, then adds “Don’t look, don’t look!” when Sam turns to follow Dean’s finger.

Sam shakes his head. He’s been dealing with his brother’s anxiety all morning. “So go say hi.”

“I can’t just go say hi, man! I’ve gotta set the scene, make sure he sees me.” Dean smooths his t-shirt, striped like the bisexual flag. “Come on, we’ll move closer.”

They move closer, and closer, until Sam sees Gabriel point them out...and then Cas darts away like a skittish cat.

“Fuck!” Dean groans, then takes off after him. “Wait! Wait!” 

Sam wanders to the sidewalk and sends a text to Gabriel— _What the hell?_ —but he doesn’t answer.

Dean returns a few minutes later, completely dejected. “I couldn’t find him.”

A few minutes after that, as they’re heading back toward their car, Gabriel responds to Sam’s text, calling off the plan for today and saying maybe they should’ve done this at the restaurant after all.

On Monday and Tuesday, Dean visits each of the restaurants and the bakery, but Cas isn’t there. Still, he leaves notes (as Stranger) and Cas leaves notes back, as sweet as ever, according to Dean, which only depresses him more.

Sam calls Gabriel. “We need to try again. Dean’s getting really down.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a shaken-up bro over here, so let’s maybe sit on it a little longer.”

“How much longer?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, Dean is hurting.”

“Well, Cas is just starting to heal.”

“He needs to know.”

“Maybe not now.”

“Yes, now.”

“No, _not_ now.”

“ _Yes_. The longer this goes on, the more both of them are going to hurt.”

“You _saw_ how Cas reacted. Don’t you think he should be a little more open to talking to Dean first? You know, like, not ready to run away?”

“He can’t hide forever. He’s gonna have to face it.”

“Wow, you know anxiety so well.”

“I know you have to face shit to get through it.”

“And _I_ know you have to build yourself up to be able to ‘face shit.’ He’s gotta be strong enough, especially if your brother decides to pull something.”

“Pull what?”

“More of his asshole schtick. I don’t want him to hurt Cas.”

“ _My_ brother hurt Cas? What about _your_ brother hurting Dean?”

“ _My_ brother is the innocent one here.”

With a growl, Sam says, “ _Your_ brother hasn’t asked to meet Dean _once_ , but he’s happy to accept all his gifts. Kinda using him, don’t you think?”

“No, he’s not, and let’s remember that _your_ brother started this by being a jerk and he’s made Cas even more gun-shy than he already was.”

“Well, _your_ brother needs to buck up and talk to people.”

“Well, _fuck_ _you_ , you don’t know _anything_ about him or his experiences.”

“You guys aren’t the only ones who’ve had it tough.”

“True, and yet _your_ brother was the only one who yelled at mine.”

“Uh, no, _you_ yelled at mine.”

“Because he deserved it!”

“Dean thought Cas deserved it!”

“He didn’t!”

“Well, maybe he should’ve opened his mouth and explained himself!”

“ _Hey!_ ” The low, angry timbre of Dean’s voice interrupts the argument. He points a warning finger at Sam. “Don’t.”

“Dean—”

“Don’t say _anything_ negative about Cas, you hear me?”

“I’m sor—”

“Put it on speaker.”

Sam does as he’s asked.

“I knew all this was a bad idea from the get-go. I want the both of you out of this, _now_. This is between me and Cas, and _I_ will figure out how to talk to him, if he’s willing, and you’ll _both_ stop interfering because your help isn’t helpful anymore, got it?”

Sam and Gabriel stay silent.

“Good.”

Dean walks out, and Sam hangs up without a goodbye.


	5. Dean and Cas

It’s been a long week, and Dean is discouraged and dead tired.

Maybe that’s why he chooses today to lay it all out on the table.

The joy he feels talking with Cas in their correspondence is dampened by the guilt he feels for hurting him the way he did and the fact that he knows the truth and Cas doesn’t. It’s not fair to him. And above all, above his own happiness, he wants Cas to be happy.

He’s fallen in love with the weird, dorky guy who loves knitting, guinea pigs, burgers, and, despite himself, his half-brother; the guy who’s smart as a whip and knows it; the guy who keeps getting up when his mind knocks him down; the guy who works so damn hard because he always feels like he has to prove his worth. It’s not true, and Dean has told him several times in their notes, but it probably doesn’t mean much when some guy named Stranger tells him that. 

He knows Cas has feelings for him, too. They’ve talked about it. Hell, they’ve talked about everything in long, rambling letters on notebook paper and restaurant letterhead. Dean doesn’t think Cas can actually love him, though, until he knows everything. It’s important to tell Cas so he has all the information he needs, but it’s important to Dean, too, because he wants Cas to choose him, to love him, eyes wide open. 

He sits in his bed and writes his note:

_Dear Cas,_

_I want to meet you. God, do I want to. But I’m scared you’re not going to like who you see. I don’t mean “who I am inside” or something, because you know all that. We’ve talked about my shitty life and you haven’t run yet, ha ha. But you might when you realize who I am. I have to take the chance, though, because you deserve to know who you’re pouring your heart out to and to choose whether you want to keep doing so._

_I’m Dean Winchester. The_ ~~_guy_~~ _asshole who yelled at you at Grace that day._

_It was a bad, bad misunderstanding and totally my fault, and I’ve been wanting to apologize to you since the day it happened. If you give me a chance, I’ll do it in person, but if you don’t want to see me, then let me just say that I’m so, so, so sorry. As soon as I realized we were on totally different wavelengths and I understood what you were really doing, I felt like absolute shit. Here you were just LIKING me and I went and ruined the whole thing by assuming the worst. But, you know, that’s what I do sometimes. I hope you know by now that you weren’t wrong for being attracted to me—I mean, your taste in men is questionable, but hey. So anyway, I’m sorry. I was a jerk._

_Cas, I really like you. I more than like you. Everything we’ve talked about, everything we’ve shared has not only made me fall for you, but it’s made me a better person, too. So thanks for that._

_If you want to meet with me—even if it’s just to punch me in the face for being an asshole or for hiding who I really was—I’d love to. You name when and where. If you don’t, then thank you for listening and for everything._

_-Dean_

He’ll drop it off at the bakery on his way into work today. It’s where their Friday morning notes go, because that’s what they agreed upon since that’s where Cas usually goes on Fridays. 

Note finished, he hauls himself out of bed to get ready for the day.

Forty-five minutes later, coffee and note in hand, he’s walking out the door with Sam.

“Another note, huh?” Sam says, though what did he expect? He does this every day, and Sam is often with him.

He doesn’t answer. Sam doesn’t try to engage.

It’s not that he’s mad at Sam, exactly, or at Gabe, even. They tried their boneheaded best. But really, this comes down to Dean not being a coward. He should’ve written Cas this note a long time ago, as soon as he realized he was wrong. If he had, Cas’ pain would’ve been lessened and Dean’s gut wouldn’t be churning. But if he had, would they have ever talked like this? Would they have experienced the affection they feel for each other, the openness that two broken (“bent, not broken,” Cas would say) souls shared? Would he ever have gotten the chance to fall in love with him?

Maybe he can’t regret it completely, but it’s time to be real.

At the bakery, he leaves Sam in the car and bypasses the line to leave the note with Jack, one of their employees. 

“Hi!” Jack grins. He’s way too bouncy for six-thirty in the morning. 

“Morning.” Dean smiles warmly because he can’t help it, the kid does that to him. “Leave this in Cas’ office for me?”

Jack takes the envelope with the letter and promises he will.

The day is brutal. It’s hot and buggy, everyone’s cranky, and one of the machines has locked up multiple times. Dean’s broken up two potential fistfights and fired the guy for unsafe practices (and since the guy’s a dick, no big loss). The only thing that keeps him going is knowing that, maybe, there will be a note waiting for him at The Depot, where the Friday night notes go since the bakery is closed in the evenings and it’s the least busy of their restaurants. But with the way the day is going, even that seems unlikely. 

At seven, the daylight waning and the crew smoked, they head home. 

Dean passes right by The Depot.

“Not gonna go get your note?” Sam asks. Dean can tell he’s trying to keep it light (and failing miserably). 

“Gonna go home and take a shower first.” He rolls his shoulders. There’s a part of him that’s hoping he shows up and Cas is there waiting for him, so he wants to look presentable. There’s another part of him that is terrified of going to the diner and finding nothing there waiting for him. Either way, he needs to prepare.

He showers, eats, and has his hand on the doorknob when Sam calls out, “Not sure what’s going on, but good luck.”

Dean turns and looks at his brother, whose eyes are big and full of concern. The kid means well, and he loves the hell out of him for it. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”

The drive to the restaurant is the slowest ten minutes he’s ever driven, and the one minute walk from his parking space to the door even slower. But then, he’s at the counter and asking Wendy if she has a note for him. 

She says yes.

Shaking, Dean opens it.

_Hattie Lake, tomorrow at 7:00am._

Dean closes his eyes and thanks a God he hasn’t had much reason to believe in.

* * *

Cas had been shocked, to put it mildly.

“ _Dean Winchester?_ ” he said aloud as soon as Stranger—Dean—revealed himself. 

He read the rest of the note, then read the entire thing from the beginning. 

And after that, he called Gabriel at home.

“’Lo?”

“You _knew_ ,” Cas hissed, uncaring that he surely woke his brother.

“You know,” Gabe replied, sounding much more awake all of a sudden.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t—”

“If you even _try_ to tell me you didn’t know, I will come home and strangle you.”

With a staticky sigh, Gabe admitted that yes, he did know, had known the entire time. He then launched into his explanation of his and Sam Winchester’s involvement and how they got Dean to agree. 

“Well, thanks a lot,” he said, miffed. He hung up on his brother, hoping he’d be too overcome by guilt to go back to sleep (though he doubted it). 

All morning, he thought about the man he’d fallen for, a man who finally had a face and a real name—the face and name he’d been trying to avoid out of utter embarrassment. He was angry at first; he felt played, catfished, and his embarrassment deepened. Everything he and Stranger shared—the jokes, the fears, the dreams and secrets—had all felt so _real_. 

As the day wore on, though, he came to the conclusion—out of logic, maybe, but more likely out of the same sheer hope in humanity that kept him sane and functioning throughout his childhood—that they _were_ real... the conversations, the feelings, the two of them. _They were real._

Just to be sure, though, he discussed it with his friends at their biweekly Stitch and Bitch date, this time at Cas’.

“I want to be sure I’m not being overly optimistic,” Cas explained to Ini and Hann as they knitted in the living room, tapas and skeins spread on the coffee table. 

“Cas—”

“You shut up,” Cas barked at Gabe.

“It’s really your call, Cas,” Ini said, quite reasonably, as he worked a row of garter stitch on what would eventually become a baby blanket he planned to donate. 

“But am I being stupid?”

“I don’t think so,” Hann offered. “You’ll never know if you don’t take a chance.”

“He was rather rude,” Cas reminded them, playing devil’s advocate against his own wishes. 

“It’s not exactly the best way to start a relationship,” she agreed. “But then again, my parents hated each other when they met, and they’ve been married thirty-five years and counting.”

“And everyone has a bad day, right?” Ini chimed in. “From what you’ve said about Stra—uh, Dean, he had it pretty rough and he’s still rough around the edges, from his own admission. But he clearly feels bad, or why would he have bothered?”

“Yes,” Cas mused, fingers flying nimbly as he stitched a colorful sweater, a sweater he planned to give Gabe for the next chilly Wyoming winter (though he made fun of Cas’ knitting, Gabe loved nothing more than lounging around the house in oversized sweaters and men’s stretch pants—or women’s, he wasn’t fussy as long as they stretched the way he liked). “He does seem to feel very deeply, and he did seem to feel like I was somehow maligning his crew, crew that he’s told me are like family to him. I suppose I might be sensitive about that, too.”

“Cas—”

“Gabe, if you want to talk, you need to come knit.”

In his second shock of the day, Gabe actually did. 

“Now,” Gabe said, wrapping a ribbon of bulky yarn around his fingers in the only sort of knitting he knew how to do. “You know he didn’t impress me.”

“Yes. And yet you helped. And kept it from me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, but I _kept_ it from you because if he turned out to be a dick, you wouldn’t have to be hurt by him twice.”

“Except if he’d just stopped writing to me, I would’ve been hurt.” 

“Oh, I would’ve made him write some bullshit about going overseas or something, I don’t know. Anyway, I was trying to protect you while still giving him a chance.”

“I don’t understand _why_ you wanted to give him a chance, Gabe,” Hann jumped in, not missing a beat as she maneuvered her circular needle expertly. “He dissed your brother and you yelled at him for it. Seems unlike you to give someone like that another chance.”

“Yeah, well…” he trailed off, then shrugged. “Maybe I saw something in the guy.”

“In Dean or in his brother, Sam?” Cas asked with a raised brow.

“Ha ha ha. In Dean. You know, both older brothers, both mean well but kind of screw up a lot, both smother our families. He seemed sincere. And, I don’t know, I wanted you to have a little excitement. Sue me.”

It was an apology and a blessing both, and Cas took it as intended. “Well, thanks, Gabe. Guess I wouldn’t have gotten to know him without you.” He tucked the would-be sweater to the side and stood up. “I know what I’m going to do. I’ll be back in a few.”

He ran a quick but important delivery—an answer and, Cas hoped, a chance.

And now, sitting at Hattie Lake in his Corvette (a luxury, for sure, but hell, he’d earned it), he waits to see if he’ll get that chance. He sips his coffee and, though he’s early, watches the time. 

6:30.

6:32.

6:33.

6:3—a gorgeous black car pulls up, rumbling noisily. Cas’ heart is certainly louder, though, as it gallops in his chest. _He’s early, too._ _Fuck. I thought I’d have more time._

He steps out at the same time as Dean, who freezes when their eyes lock. Dean’s scared, Cas realizes, probably even more scared than he is.

Cas smiles. “Hello, Stranger. Or rather, hello, Dean.”

Dean exhales.

They meet between their cars. 

“Cas—”

“You don’t need to say it. I read your letter.”

“Yeah, I do.” His throat bobs. His eyes are shiny, his jaw tight. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For making assumptions, for confronting you the way that I did, for not being honest, for doing this whole convoluted plan our brothers cooked up to get you to give me a chance—” 

“I know.”

“But really, I—”

“I know because I know _you_. And you’re forgiven.” Cas reaches out and thumbs his jaw. 

The touch is enough to cut all of Dean’s strings, making him drop into Cas’ arms as if he’s done it a hundred times instead of one. Cas holds him the same way, the ever-present wind off Hattie Lake swirling around them. 

“I brought you coffee and your favorite pastries,” Cas says, leaning back to take in Dean’s face—a face full of warmth and relief and hopefulness (much like his own, he guesses).

Dean chuckles. “I did the same thing.” 

“Then we can trade and talk, and then, if you’re willing...I’ll teach you to windsurf.”

“This a date, Cas?” Dean asks, aiming for cheekiness but slipping on his anxiety and missing the mark. 

“Yes, it is,” Cas reassures him, sliding a hand to his chest but keeping his gaze firmly locked on Dean’s. “If you want it to be, that is,” he adds, tripping on his own anxiety.

“I do,” Dean murmurs. His green ( _whoa, so green_ ) eyes study him. “You really do forgive easily. Just like your brother said.”

“Well, you’re not quite off the hook.” He grins and pinches his hip to show he’s teasing. 

Dean grins back, clearly more relaxed. “I like this side of you. And I am more than happy to make whatever amends you think I need to. Any amends you want.”

“Any, hmm? Tempting. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

They bump noses, still smiling, then Cas takes his hand. 

They talk. 

They eat. 

They windsurf, with hilarious results. 

And when they kiss, Cas feels like he’s found his home at last. 


	6. Gabe and Sam

_Five months later_

“It’s six in the damn morning, you fucking asshole,” Gabe mutters, pulling the covers over his head. 

Downstairs, dishes are clattering and music is playing. Led Zeppelin. _Again._

Fucking sentimental sap.

It’s a big day for his brother, though, so he reluctantly drags himself out of bed and throws on his rattiest sweatpants and most offensive t-shirt, layering a zippered sweatshirt over it for warmth on this chilly almost-winter morning. He yawns, stretches, and wills himself not to climb right back into bed. 

“You are so lucky right now,” he grumbles, taking a seat at the dining room table.

“I am. I have you, my darling brother, who’s selflessly offering his assistance today,” Cas replies. Sarcastic dick. Gabe accepts the praise anyway. 

They won’t have any more mornings like this. His little brother, who he kidnapped from foster care, whose parent-teacher conferences he went to his last three years of high school (to revel in the kid’s glory because he’s fucking brilliant), whose tears dried on his shoulder, who relied on him for everything until he didn’t, is flying the coop. He’s in love with Dean Winchester, and they’ve purchased a house a few miles away. 

Gabe will be happy for the peace and quiet, for the reprieve from the constant worrying and the break from the irritating click-clack of his dumb knitting needles and the space to do whatever he wants to do without Cas being around to roll his eyes. 

Yeah.

“You okay?” Cas asks. 

“I’m tired, you prick.” He rubs his eyes. “Got me up earlier than God so you can move in with your boyfriend faster. Gross.”

“There’s a storm coming in later, you know that. We want to be all moved in before it starts and we want you guys home safely, too.”

“Yeah, whatever. You just can’t wait to play house with your life-size Ken doll.”

“I assure you, Dean is not a Ken doll. He has a penis, for one.”

Gabe shudders. “Can’t you say ‘dick’ like a normal dude?”

“No.” 

The damn brat has the audacity to look innocent when he’s anything but.

Gabe feels his throat tighten and takes a swig of coffee to deal with it. 

Cas made eggs Benedict—Gabe’s favorite. He shovels two helpings down while Cas goes on and on about when the deliveries are coming and making sure they’re careful with the boxes marked _Fragile—Handle With Care_ “because they really are, it’s not just a suggestion” and how wonderful it will be to spend their first night at home in front of the Christmas tree with cocoa, watching the snow fall. 

“I can’t believe you dumbasses put up a Christmas tree before putting your furniture in,” Gabe tells him yet again, because he has to say something snarky to balance out all the damn feelings in his chest.

“We had the perfect location where it wouldn’t get knocked over by anything, and we figured we’d be so busy settling into the house that we wouldn’t have time or energy later. It was the best solution.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just wanted an excuse to spend more time sucking face.” Cas and Dean had been spending a lot of time at their new house, scrubbing and painting and replacing floors and yes, probably doin’ the dirty. Given where he’s found them at this house, he wouldn’t put it past either of them to end up against a counter.

“Maybe.” Cas smiles the dumb smile that’s become a permanent fixture on his face, and Gabe can’t even be annoyed because Cas is so damn happy and hell, if anyone deserves it, he does.

They wrap up breakfast and Cas loads the dishwasher even though Gabe tells him to leave the dishes there. “You’re going to say no to me doing a chore you hate before your lazy ass has to do it all the time?” Cas teases.

“Fuck that, we own six restaurants. Takeout every day. No dishes. Done.”

“Well, that’s...one option.”

“Yup.”

Cas squints at him, but is distracted by a quick knock followed by the door opening. “Honey, I’m home!” they hear an uncharacteristically chipper voice call out. 

And there’s that dumb smile again.

“Morning, hon,” Cas grins, already holding an arm out to greet Dean properly. 

“Hey, sunshine.” Dean tucks himself under it and cups Cas’ cheek, leaning in and kissing him much longer than Gabe can take at this hour.

Sam seems to feel the same. “Guys, can you lay off each other for, like, five minutes?”

“What, Sammy?” He turns, still under Cas’ arm and his arm around Cas’ waist. “All I heard was lay.”

“Gross, Dean.”

“Nah, you’re just jealous.”

“No.”

“Whatever.” He smacks another kiss to Cas’ temple, then says, “Come on, babe. Let’s get moving. Get it? Moving?”

“I get it,” he answers with a roll of his eyes, the same sort of fond exasperation that is sometimes directed Gabe’s way, but softer.

Gabe’s going to miss that eye roll.

It’s not long before Cas’ side of the house is empty. They’re taking just about everything, since Dean’s furniture is “shit” (Dean’s word) and Gabe doesn’t need anything from Cas’ suite. They already bought appliances and dining and living room furniture that’s being delivered today, so Gabe will keep theirs. He’ll have a place to sit in his too-quiet house, at least. 

Gabe looks around Cas’ room—the hangers in the closet, the nail holes on the wall, the expanse of floor so open he could tap dance on it. Even Ginny Fig the guinea pig is gone, waiting in the living room to go to her new home. 

Cas stands beside him. “You all right?”

“Fine,” he scoffs. He flicks his eyes to his brother. “What?”

He shrugs as his eyes scan the room. “It’s weird, that’s all. It’s been us against the world for so long. Hard to imagine anything else.”

Gabe nods. 

Cas pulls him into an unexpected hug and Gabe lets himself melt into it. He understands why Cas is hugging him, why he said what he said, how he spoke Gabe’s thoughts so he didn’t have to do it himself. 

After a long minute, they separate, each wiping tears away. “I’m happy for you, though,” Gabe tells him, adding a manly slap on the back. “And, you know.” _I love you._

“I know.” Cas rests his arm around Gabe’s shoulders as he leads him out of the room. “God, I love being taller than you. You’re perfect for leaning on.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Gabe grumbles, but smiles.

* * *

Sam is looking forward to the silence.

Dean is always so _loud_ —his music, his car, his personality, his...exploits with his boyfriend. 

“Where are they _now_?” he asks Gabriel, wiping his sore hands on his thighs as he rests Cas’ heavy desk on the floor of the entranceway. “I swear they’ve done nothing but conveniently disappear today.”

Gabriel snorts. “You know what they’re probably up to, man. Christening the new place.”

“Eww.” Sam shudders. 

“They’ve been all ‘love you’ and ‘baby’ all day.”

It’s sweet, really, but also completely annoying and, yeah, it sparks a little jealousy. “Please tell me your brother has more decency than to have sex while we’re here helping them move in. I know mine doesn’t, so I’m holding out hope for Cas.”

“He does, generally, but your brother’s made him a horndog, so no promises.” Gabriel pops a mint into his mouth. 

“Well, I don’t hear them, and Dean’s usually noisy about his...enthusiasm at our apartment, so hopefully they’re keeping it in their pants. I’m gonna see if I can find them.”

“Good luck.”

Sam hopes he won’t need it, but he thanks him anyway.

The house is fairly large and new to him, so he searches each room until he finds them in their bedroom—and nope, they’re not making out, but rather arguing in hushed tones. If there’s one thing they do as much as gross him out with their displays of affection, it’s annoy him with their petty arguing. He’s not sure which he’d rather walk in on. “I thought you guys were assembling the bed,” he grouses.

“We were, but Cas won’t see reason,” Dean says, glancing pointedly at his boyfriend. 

“He means I won’t agree with him,” Cas explains, then turns back to Dean. “If we face it the way I want to, the light won’t shine in your eyes in the morning, which you hate.”

“Yeah, but if we face it the way _I_ want to, you’ll be able to see the woods while you drink your coffee like _you_ like to.”

_Oh good, they’re having a_ ** _romantic_** _argument. Ugh_. “Cas, we need to know where you want your desk.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll go with you. I haven’t quite decided; I wanted to see it in the space.”

“Yeah, good, you go, babe. Sam, you help me with the damn bed while Cas helps Gabe move the desk.” 

Cas squints at him, Dean gives him innocent eyes, and Cas surely buys none of it but waves his hand dismissively as he leaves.

“Bed facing the window,” Dean murmurs, to Sam’s complete lack of surprise.

They manage to move the bed, dressers, nightstands, and an antique trunk to their proper spots, then they find the sheets and make the bed. Sam watches Dean as he surveys the room and nods in satisfaction. 

Dean has never looked so... _at home_.

Their father dragged them all around the country in their youth as he bounced from job to job, woman to woman, gamble to gamble. The only certainty was uncertainty...that and Dean taking care of him. As teens, they finally got to stay with Bobby. It became home to Sam, but to Dean, Sam suspects Bobby’s was just another temporary stop—a safe place, sure, but not a place where he could truly let go of his defenses or his parental role and simply be a kid. Even their apartment had an air of temporariness to it, with its white walls they weren’t allowed to paint and its frequent ownership changes. 

But Dean chose this house. It has his name on it. It has furniture he bought in it. It overlooks the woods he’s made his life. It contains the man he’ll make his life with.

Dean is deeply, genuinely happy, a happiness Sam’s never seen and one that has nothing to do with him.

Sam wishes he could’ve given it to him, but he knows that he never could have. It makes him feel sad. Selfish. Kids often don’t realize the sacrifices parents make for them. He supposes it’s the same for kids whose siblings take the place of parents.

“I’m gonna go find Cas and show him. Be right back.”

Dean leaves. Sam thinks about stopping his brother and telling him this huge thing he just realized, but he doesn’t because he knows Dean won’t be able to hear it right now. One of these days, when he’s been here for a while, when he’s no longer afraid that this house and Cas’ love will slip through his fingers, he’ll tell him then. In the meantime, he’ll try to be supportive and show him gratitude when he can. 

Cas loves the setup in the bedroom, and Dean glows.

They break for lunch—takeout from Grace to celebrate the occasion—then put away some of the basics so they don’t have to dig through boxes. Sam and Dean work in the kitchen while Cas and Gabriel work in Cas’ office. Dean barks orders at Sam, Sam makes faces at Dean, and they bicker and laugh like they always do. It’s bittersweet. 

Dean disappears while Sam is tucking utensils into their slots in the drawer and isn’t back when he’s finished, nor when he’s given the cooking tools the same treatment. He’s about to go search for him when Gabe sticks his head around the corner and beckons him with a finger. 

Sam follows Gabe to the living room, where they watch through the French doors as Dean and Cas stand facing each other in their backyard, nose-to-nose and smiling, hands swinging between them as they talk. 

“Disgustingly happy, aren’t they,” Gabriel murmurs—a statement, not a question. 

“Yeah. Never knew my brother could smile like that.”

“Same here.” 

They watch as Dean takes Cas in his arms and begins to dance with him playfully, looking grumpy about it yet clearly loving it as Cas lets him lead. 

“The day I turned eighteen, I left and took Cas with me,” Gabriel starts. “He was only fifteen at the time. We were in a shitty situation after a lifetime of shitty situations. Me, I managed to get through with my wit, my sparkling personality, my smarts, and unhealthy doses of rebellion and denial. Cas, he got through with that giant brain of his and pushing his nose to the grindstone so hard that he wore the stone out. Of course, anxiety drove most of that. Kept him apart from most people, too, which he liked because then he wasn’t asked questions and he didn’t get attached. Attachments didn’t work out so great for us.”

“Seems like he’s doing okay now. Attachment-wise, I mean.”

“Couldn’t afford to get attached to people as kids—never knew when we were gonna be moved. As adults, though, we got to choose to stay. That was something to get used to, I’ll tell ya. I almost ran plenty of times. But I had to take care of him, keep things stable for him.”

_Sounds a lot like Dean_. 

“Anyway, Cas has worked on the attachment bit a lot. The anxiety still rears up sometimes, but he keeps trying, keeps putting his faith in people. Dean’s helped with that, too. Actually, for a while I thought he got attached to him way too fast. But Dean’s been right there with him, matching that intensity. They seem to understand each other that way.”

Sam hums in agreement. “Dean never had a parent. I mean, we had our mom, but she died when we were really young, and we had our dad, but he was more like a friend than a father, and not a very good friend at that. More like a boss, maybe—made sure we had what we needed, but didn’t do a lot for us emotionally and made decisions that didn’t really take us into consideration.” He shrugs. “It impacted me, but not like it impacted him. Dean was my mom and my dad, but Dean didn’t have anybody. When we went to live with Bobby, he became my, I don’t know, stepdad I guess, because Dean was still my dad. But Bobby never took that parental role with him. He was more like a friend or a guide to Dean, because by that point Dean didn’t let people take care of him.”

“Mmm.”

Cas rakes his fingers through Dean’s hair, grinning and saying something that makes Dean pull him into a gentle, lingering kiss.

“They earned this,” Gabriel murmurs. 

Sam nods. 

Gabriel turns toward him and folds his arms. “So what’s next for you now that our brothers are gonna be banging in domestic bliss?”

He grimaces at the mental picture before answering, “Keep living at the apartment, I guess. It’ll be nice to have the peace and quiet.” 

Gabriel scoffs. “Peace and quiet. You’ll be bored in ten minutes.”

Dean does have a way of making sure he doesn’t drown in his extensive book collection. “Maybe,” he admits. “I’ll kind of miss him, I guess.”

“Well, when you get sick of the ‘peace and quiet’, I’ve got a big house and a brother who just moved out.”

Sam furrows his brows. 

Gabriel raises his.

They turn back to their brothers, who are laughing and holding hands as they walk toward the doors. 

It’s probably time to leave, Sam thinks. The snow will be coming soon and the couple would probably like to enjoy their new house alone. 

“Think about it. I’m a lot of fun. I’d liven up your humdrum life.”

Sam shakes his head and chuckles. He doesn’t doubt _that_ for a minute. He looks at the man who gave his brother a chance at happiness. “Maybe,” Sam says with a gentle smirk. “You wanna get some pizza after this?”

“I know just the place,” Gabriel says, grinning. “Rogue has a pie that will make you cry. Peanut butter, provolone, and bacon.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“ _You’re_ disgusting, but fine. We can get the Thai Pie. Chicken, peppers, sprouts, and a sauce made with peanut butter and honey that’s to _die_ for.”

“You really like peanut butter,” Sam comments with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, I really love nuts.”

Sam groans, Gabe cackles, and Dean and Cas, having just walked in, walk right back out again. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out my other work, including Roleplaying Games, my latest WIP. Also, come say hey on Twitter—I’m @followurenergy. ❤️


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